


Moving On

by Aithilin



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fai falls in battle. Kurogane doesn't know until it's over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Fai fell in battle, it was worlds away from any home he had ever known. It was on a battlefield he didn’t belong, and his last breaths were spent protecting the only family he had really belonged to. 

Kurogane didn’t know until he was swept up in Mokona’s magic and deposited in Clow. 

In her shock and grief, Mokona had taken them away from the petty battles and politics they had gotten involved in (against Fai’s advice– Kurogane remembered that clearly enough) and brought them to the next strongest magicians she could think of (Kurogane knew, the second he had pulled Fai from Syaoran’s arms, that no magic or healer could help). It was Yukito, with patient words and a kind voice who took Fai from Kurogane and promised them some rest. 

That night, while the children grieved and the priests and priestesses of Clow started their funerary rites, Kurogane locked himself away. He wanted to drink, thought he should, keep himself dulled before the knife’s edge of shock really struck home. He wanted a momento, to go out and see the body of the mage, say his own goodbye. 

But all he could hear was Fai’s soft teasing in his ears as he wondered what momento would be best. He couldn’t cut Fai’s hair, the mage had fussed when he offered in that one world that was far too hot, and it was too unusual for men to wear their hair long. He already had a ribbon Fai had used as a hair tie wrapped around his sword’s hilt– from that world where Fai had said it was tradition for courting couples to gift each other with “favours”. Fai didn’t keep souvenirs or trinkets; he sold what he had, and stored what could be useful later. There was nothing small and discreet that Kurogane could keep close. 

In the end, they couldn’t even stay for the funeral. 

Syaoran’s price took them away too soon, and Kurogane refused to let the boy travel alone. 

It was on a peaceful world when the princess contacted them. She told them about the service they had, and the tradition of a funeral pyre. She said that Fai was honoured as a prince and priest, as he should have been, and she lit the pyre herself to say goodbye. 

Only magic doesn’t burn. And the little crystals of Fai’s magic– so use to existing outside of his body already– had remained when they collected the ashes of him to keep safe. She had the crystals fashioned into pendants, kept one with the urn. The second, she offered to Kurogane – the clear blue of Fai’s eyes shot through with a touch of gold for the vampire’s blood that had remained. 

Kurogane nearly laughed when the princess told him how she had terrified a young priest who had the gall to suggest that it was a bad omen that the magic remained. 

Kurogane wore it close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days, Kurogane hates the remnants of Fai's magic.

The magic was a living, breathing, pulsing thing. Where it hung around his neck on a delicate chain (much stronger than it looked, but Kurogane wasn’t willing to test it now) he could feel it living; feel Fai’s own aura with it. He could see Fai’s own eyes in its colour, and the magic seemed to exist with a simple joy in being free. 

Kurogane hated it some days. 

He would sleep with the gem tucked close, waking in the dead of night because he thought he felt Fai shift in his arms. He would look around as they travelled, sensing the magic in the little gem pulse with Fai’s own curiosity– all but dragging him to magical devices and hidden pathways. 

More than once he caught himself muttering “damn mage” under his breath when he followed the persistent sense of magic into trouble. 

Magic was a living, breathing thing. He understood that from his mother, from the kid and the princess. And from all the trouble they had gone through to shatter the magical illusion of the bastard Fei Wang Reed. 

And Fai had powerful magic, indeed. 

Some nights he wondered if the magic could be harnessed properly. If an illusion could be created– as sentient and alive as the bastard that had caused all the trouble in the first place. He wondered if the magic could be used to recreate time– let Fai exist again in a moment separated from the rest of eternity, like the witch and that Watanuki kid. 

He wondered when Syaoran would stop looking so damned guilty, and when Mokona would stop avoiding the gem. 

He wondered what it must be like for the princess, to see ghosts an spirits, and never be alone. He was almost afraid to ask if she could see Fai, if he wasn’t really gone for her. If he sat by her and told her his stupid stories, or chased through the streets of Clow causing trouble now that he couldn’t be caught. If he scared off suitors who didn’t know about Syaoran, or wandered the halls of the Clow palace. If Fai was finally with his brother, somewhere safe, and telling the boy who had died about all of the adventures he had. 

It was when he started wondering that it hurt the most. That the magic would glow in his hand and pulse out a warmth he knew to be Fai’s. 

They had been lucky so far.

Kurogane dreaded the day when they met the mage again in another world.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurogane wasn’t there when it happened. When they had pushed into the little strip of no-mans-land left around the ruins, and he had gone further into the fray to keep an angry warlord who thought they were invading at bay. He had trusted Fai to keep Syaoran and Mokona safe while the boy investigated the rumours they had heard about the stone structures all the locals avoided. 

He knew that if Fai’s magic failed (which the mage laughed at him for thinking), then weapons would suffice. They all knew to run away if things got too dangerous. 

But the ruins were the stuff of legends in this world. Too unholy to be sacred. Too steeped in superstition to be torn down. It was a place of death and linked worlds, according to the legends. Where souls passed and innocent lives could be swept up by magics. They had heard the stories a thousand times in a thousand worlds. It was an untouchable place.

They were just stories. 

Kurogane almost wished that the stories were true, in the end. The night before, Fai had told him about them. About travellers who wandered too close and were spirited away by goblins. About lovers who mourned at the stones until the twisted spirit of their missing lover lured them away into death. About strange shapes that appear on certain nights and missing children drawn away by promises from fairies. 

All of those legends had happy endings. The goblins defeated, the lovers reunited, the children returned wiser and powerful for their adventure. 

He almost wished that it was a story that took Fai from him. Not some startled patrol of young troops wandering too close to a territory they shouldn’t have been near. Not a group of young men too scared to join the battle fifty feet away where Kurogane was protecting the young official who had granted them access to the ruins in the first place. 

Not something so mundane as a scared boy with a rifle. 

What was worse was that he dreamed of Fai. Dreamed of how Fai would have tried to soothe the boy to calm, sweet talk his way out of trouble, play the naive traveller. Fai would have smiled and got close, assessed the threat and stuck a knife between ribs if he thought there was no other way to protect Syaoran from a scared young soldier who was just a little too jumpy as he ran from battle. 

(When he thought about it, he wished he could go back and make sure that soldier was dead. Make sure that field was soaked with the blood of the people who took Fai from him. He felt the anger, and rage, and the regret that he hadn’t been there to protect or avenge his family, that Mokona’s shock had taken them away too soon)

He dreamed of Fai rushing Syaoran and Mokona away, of meeting at their appointed spot after the battle (after Fai watched from afar and cheered for Kurogane’s victory– never doubting that his lover would come back), and they could be whisked away in Mokona’s magic to the next world, and the next, and the next. 

Between the dreams, he collected little souvenirs. Things that made the magic around his neck shimmer and pulse. A pretty stone, a ribbon, a feather, an ornament. Things that made him think of Fai’s smile. They were sent off to Clow by way of Watanuki, and Kurogane never gave them a second thought. Instead, he thought of what Fai would have said, would have done, how he would have teased and played, and tied his hair up with the ribbon or tossed the stone from hand to hand as he thought. 

He kept Fai in his dreams now. And Syoaran in sight. 

At least until Syaoran could smile again.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes he got caught up in the ease of it all— in the sense of adventure, of looking after Syaoran, of keeping Mokona out of trouble. Of being the responsible parent. Of being the first point of intimidation when they needed information. Of the pull and push and flow and comfort of the little piece of Fai that he held close to his heart. How readily his hand touched at the little crystal pendant to make sure it wasn’t lost in a fight, or in a restless night, or in whatever mess they had managed to fall into— if only to reassure himself that he hadn’t been careless. 

Hadn’t forgotten. 

Sometimes he got caught up in how easy it was to think “Fai would have enjoyed this.”

They had found that it had become easier to contact Sakura now. She reached out to them; messages sent through Watanuki and the other Mokona confirmed the necessary supplies they needed for each contact, but it had gotten easier. The conversations with the princess had become almost weekly rituals for them. Retellings of the last world, of their adventures and discoveries. News that Syaoran could share about restoring life to those who should be living. 

Kurogane found it hard to talk to the girl for too long. Not without seeing lanky shadows around her. He suspected Fai’s magic had something to do with the new connection— how it pulsed warm in his hand at the sound of Sakura’s voice— and with his new unease at noticing the shadows and wisps of magic that clung to the girl like loose thread. 

Sometimes, he wanted to ask her what it was. If it was a spirit with her, clinging to her own vibrant life. If it was something dangerous or harmful. If she could sense it, though she never acknowledged it. Sometimes he wanted to know if it was Fai. If restoring life to the children they had lost to Fei Wang could somehow— impossibly— bring Fai back to him. So he could return the magic he wore to its owner. And feel the pulse of life beneath too-pale flesh instead of the empty pull and push of energy he couldn’t wield. 

He knew that he didn’t want to hear the answer. So he let himself fall into the ease of the adventure. Smiled as Syaoran retold stories he had heard and legends they had seen come to life— the boy more animated in a few minutes of talking to Sakura than he was in the entirety of their journey alone. He excused himself when the children wanted to speak alone, ushered Mokona out by picking her up or placing her on his shoulder (she still avoided the crystal) despite her protests. He contributed his less-sensationalised version of events (it was a magician controlling statues, or a thief in the guise of a lord, the great beast of a haunted forest was a lost pet or wounded creature, the magic wall was just sturdy brick and mud) when he could see the awe in her eyes as Syaoran told her of grand adventures with demons in ruins and ghosts in forests. And he let his own curiosity keep its peace. 

He let himself get swept along to each new world, with each new meeting, and each new grand adventure his (smaller) family could drag him into. 

He almost let himself forget. Let the pain fade to the dull ache he kept deep with the loss of his parents and home. Let the old memories fade just a little bit more as Syaoran led him on a merry chase through the streets of a new world— one caught somewhere between the age of swords and chivalry, and the transition to more complex technologies, with a touch of magic to ease the growing pains— as they struggled to find a specific bookstore before it closed for the night. He almost let himself forget that there were duplicates of people he had met before running around in most worlds. 

At least until he saw the golden hair and long limbs. Until he was struck dumb by the familiar smile and bright eyes and open features. He didn’t know that the man— the stranger, the _not Fai_ — was a thief. He didn’t know that the duplicate was getting himself into trouble. 

All he knew was that some much larger brutes were about to attack someone he recognised. And he had stopped them before the lanky blond— younger than _his_ Fai, skinnier, less honed, more wild— could be a bloody smear on the street. It wasn’t until there were long arms around him and a too-familiar giggle in his ear that he thought to push the stranger away. That he even recognised the man as the stranger he was. 

Even the sing-song “my hero, Mr. Black!” unnerved him enough to keep him mute. Only able to react on instinct. To push the alien creature away with far more force than necessary. Even though the _not_ Fai laughed and ran off into the crowd before more trouble could be found. 

He let himself get swept up in the moment, the shock of the sight, the fear of seeing _not_ Fai be wiped away from another world, the surprise at the familiar touch and smell and weight. The repulsion at his own confusion and weakness as he pushed the laughing, teasing impostor away. 

Kurogane realised that the crystal was gone before he could see where the thief had fled off to.


	5. Chapter 5

Fai was a solid presence. Broader than he initially looked under the layers he favoured, more ruthless in battle than his smile suggested. He was quick and practised and clever enough to end a fight before it could really get started. He had the sense to assess enemies and dance around threats— let the boasting brave talk and posture while he wove his way around them. Kurogane remembered Fai in near constant movement as his magic burned through him. Kurogane remembered the solid press of arms and chest and the way that Fai— _his_ Fai— was so hard to pin down. His Fai would push back, find a way to throw him off his trail, tease him, enrage him, distract him if he couldn’t make a clean escape. 

There was a threat to _his_ Fai. A promise that picking a fight would not end well. 

This kid was nothing like that. He shared the fierceness, the determination, and the teasing tones. He shared the form, young and untempered by his Fai’s lifetime of training and learning and fighting to help those who had shown him scraps of kindness. This kid, this _not_ Fai, was weak— half starved and broken, already bruising as Kurogane pinned him to the wall in the ramshackle little house the trail had ended in. 

The crystal was easy to track, in the end. It was Fai’s magic. It was his aura. 

Kurogane would have sensed it anywhere. Would have been able to follow it anywhere. 

The chain alone would have fetched enough to feed the boy for a few months. The crystal, if the right buyer was found, would have made the boy wealthy enough to leave the city in a hurry. Kurogane refused to risk that outcome— refused to wait and see if his Fai’s magic would turn up to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t let _his_ Fai be traded like that, bought and sold like a tool. Not when so little of his life was spent free. His death wouldn’t be disturbed. 

So he had wasted no time in tracking the boy to the little house— a nook in the city’s slums, barely a corner of standing stone and held together with magic and wards that were in such high demand in this world. He had found the boy easily enough, crouched over a twin who was even smaller, scrawnier, being burned alive by the magic that he couldn’t sustain. Kurogane didn’t have it in him now to be sympathetic. And the kid had the bad judgement to take up a knife. A small knife— old and dull, and nothing compared to the sword Kurogane carried in plain sight. 

“Please.”

The plea didn’t come from the kid Kurogane had pinned to the flimsy wall— a hand around his throat and another crushing the hand that had held the knife. It was the twin, eyes wide in shock. “Please, don’t hurt Yuui.I’m sure—”

“Where is the crystal?”

He knew the look of the twin, had seen it in his own mother. The magic was killing him. Eating away at whatever was healthy the more he used his own innate powers. Healthy meals and warm beds were only a start to keeping that kind of destruction in check, and the boys were clearly too poor to afford either. 

Kurogane had to admit, it wasn’t what he expected when he thought he would meet another Fai, another Yuui. He had expected to see something closer to the station he knew his Fai to hold in life— a prince, a king, a noble, a scholar at worst. He had expected to find the doubles in thriving cities of ice and light and magic. Beloved, easy to get attached to again. He expected the still living images of his lover to be surrounded in brightness and the kind of easy, happy strength that had finally settled over him on the journey. He had expected to see Fai as he remembered him. Not like this. Not fighting for the survival of both himself and the twin brother Kurogane had never actually met. 

The crystal landed at his feet. Intact, and whole. 

He dropped the kid in the dust. Attempt to ignore the way the healthier twin scrambled for the other. To pull him away from the danger that Kurrogane posed to them. To protect the other the same way his Fai would have. He tried to ignore the hurt the glares caused, the way the twins looked at him as a threat and a monster. 

If his Fai was here, he would have smiled and rushed in to ease the boys. Would have teased him in front of them— called him a beast and a guard dog, scolded him for having his sword around to scare them. His Fai would have sent him out to buy food with what little money they already had, and spent the night getting the twins on their feet. He would have left them in a better state than he found them, and spent the next night, the next world, insisting he was fine, even as he clung to Kurogane for comfort or let Mokona soothe away the pain of the encounter. His Fai would have shown kindness and offered gentle words. 

“You have it back. Just get out.” The not Fai— Yuui— spat at him. “Go away.”

Kurogane was not like his Fai. He had no kind words or ways to ease the pain. He had barely managed keeping his own lover together. 

In that moment, he missed Fai more than he thought possible. 

And he apologised to whatever version of himself who might run into these twins in this world. 

He had no kind or gentle words to smooth them over, but he had the little money earned so far, and a gold chain that could feed the boys for at least a month. There was a red ribbon tied tightly around the scaled hilt of Ginryuu. That would hold the crystal as easily as it once held Fai’s hair. 

“Don’t you dare take less than its worth.” He grumbled as he wrapped the gold chain around the pouch used to hold his share of the money. He tossed it to the twins, not meeting their eyes— refusing to see their confusion in those too-familiar blue eyes— as he tied the crystal around his neck again. “And don’t get caught again.”

It would be different in the next world. It would hurt less in the next world. They had gone for so long without seeing these damned doubles of themselves before. He would have the time to recover in the next world.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurogane liked to think that his parents would have liked Fai. 

That his father would have grinned and welcomed Fai in with an easy laugh and a big meal. That their shared sense of humour would have filled the manor house with jokes and games and would have driven him mad in frustration at being teased. He liked to think that his father would know better to underestimate Fai, and still be impressed with his skills in battle and magic, and the way Fai danced on the battlefield.His father would have handed Fai weapon after weapon to test him, laughing all the while as Fai teased him right back in sparring and making a game of the tests. He would have seen through the masks and taken Fai out hunting, never letting a word be said against the strange creature that Fai was. He liked to think that, before knowing where Fai came from and the kind of life he lived until then, his father would have wrapped an arm across Fai’s shoulders and declared him “son”. 

Kurogane wondered about his mother though. She would have been impressed with Fai’s magic, he knew that. But she would have seen that sense of sadness Fai still carried with him. She would have smiled her gentle smile, and wrapped him on the head if he fell into dangerous thoughts. Or sworn undue allegiance. He liked to think that she would have brought out the calm in Fai— that sense of quiet and study that Kurogane had only started to uncover now that there was peace in Suwa. That she would not have laughed at Fai’s confusion over the difference in magic, or at his questions (he had told Fai about his mother’s students in the shrine, and that had led to a whole pack of magically inclined children following Fai around on a daily basis) about the gods and rituals. She wouldn’t have let him regret the magic that he did have, or worry that it wasn’t suitable for Suwa. She would have sat him down with her herbs and scrolls and taught him the healing prayers and rituals, and the patience to learn that healing magic wasn’t aggressive or forceful, but calm and long-lasting. That Fai would have made her laugh.

He liked to think, as he lay next to Fai in their bed, that his parents would have been appalled at Fai’s story when it came out. That his father would be all the more light hearted with Fai for the news— adopt him, play with him, chase him around the training fields, and take him out hunting. His mother… Kurogane didn’t know what his mother would have done if she met Fai now and new what his life had been. He hoped that she would have gotten angry. That she would have embraced Fai as the mother he never had but still missed. That she would have fiercely refused to let him harbour dark thoughts, and insisted that no mortal could determine luck for themselves— and that Fai was clearly good luck because he had found his way to Kurogane’s side. 

“You’re thinking too much.”

Kurogane knew he was, even before Fai muttered in the dark— never moving from where he had bunched his pillow against his forehead, sprawled out on his stomach. 

“You never tell me that, mage.” He would rest a hand against Fai’s back and smile. He knew he had a calm smile, like his mother’s. He hoped he also shared her capacity to love. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep now.” And Fai would turn, with a smile on his face, pale arms lifted to pull them together. “Kuro-sama’s thinking woke me. All those little gears turning and running around.”

“Idiot.” He knew he would kiss Fai, and smile while doing so. And they would have their moments of peace. 

And as he held the little crystal with its new red ribbon, he wondered if it was Fai’s ghost he felt around him, tearing at his heart and whispering of worlds that he’d never see. If it was Fai’s own grief that filled his head with such vivid dreams and wishes he couldn’t hope to fulfil or make— ones that could rip reality to shreds around him (but wouldn’t it be worth it? To hold Fai again? Even if they lived together in a dying universe?). 

With each world, and each new temple or shrine they found, he dropped a few coins to offer to the gods. He left his sacrifice at every altar they came across and hoped the smoke and incense could carry his wishes to those who needed to hear them. 

And he hoped his parents were taking care of Fai for him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you here to save me?”

He had seen Fai beaten, bloody, and broken before. He had seen the mage claw his way through battles and talk ways around his enemies to throw them off. He had seen the mage bleeding and angry, and desperate. Kurogane knew exactly what could make the mage desperate, and he could guarantee that it was the promise of a brother dead or dying and waiting for some miracle. And this world was no different.

The Golden Arm of the Mad King. The Fai of this world had destroyed armies already, had taken down heroes and the brave like they were dolls in his way. He was ruthless and pitiless. And on the opposite side of the battle to Kurogane here. 

When they had arrived, they were told that there was a miracle item being fought over. Some device or relic that could restore life. There was the kingdom that they had fallen into— with its brave knights and kind wizards searching to end a plague— and the other— ruled by a mad king with a cruel streak, searching to give himself immortality. It wasn’t until the first time the two sides met that Kurogane realized that there must be something else happening in the enemy kingdom. 

As soon as Fai had stepped forward, their hosts withdrew. 

The stories came from the survivors of the first skirmish. The mage for the Mad King had no name. Never spoke in battle. Never expressed anything beyond that icy expression. He simply walked through the battle with bodies at his feet. 

If there was something in this world that could restore life, Kurogane knew why there was a Fai involved. And he knew that whatever kindness was inherent in that soul would be broken if the stories were true. 

He could never stand to see chains on his mage. 

When they met again, Kurogane got close. He fought through the defences the imposter wearing his lover’s face threw up, skirted the edges of his destructive magic, threw himself against the blond, and tried to talk sense into him. Tried to offer him a way out. Tried to offer him a way to steal whatever he was really fighting for and run— and never stop running, if that’s what he wanted. He offered the very exit he had hated his own Fai for taking in the first place, but understood that when the mage is desperate, running was the best option for him. 

It didn’t work. 

Kurogane had seen this new Fai destroy the army that stood against him. Nearly turn his magic towards Syaoran. 

This time, he had Syaoran stay well away from the thick of the battle. He wouldn’t risk the boy or Mokona, because of his own misjudgement. 

Now, when they met, Kurogane acted fast. The army at his back knew his plan, knew that he intended to face the mage. So he moved fast to not let the distraction plan fail. 

He had pinned Fai against the grass and mud, kept his sword close to Fai’s neck. “Take my offer, Fai. I can—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. The mage twisted, his hands glowed, and Kurogane felt the full, sheer panic in the wiry body just as easily as he saw it in those too-familiar blue eyes. “How do you know that name? How!?”

There were rumours in this world that the mage and the mad king were one and the same. That it was the king’s fury on the battlefield that fuelled his madness. Kurogane pushed back, kept the mage pinned, understanding who exactly was fighting against him— who would peel flesh from bone with his magic if he had the chance now. “Yuui, I can help you both.”

He had seen Fai bloody, and beaten, and broken. He had seen fear and desperation in those eyes when Fai, his Fai, clung to the body of a dead brother. He had seen the man broken and afraid when his curse caused him to drive a sword through a princess he had loved like a daughter. He saw the same look in the mage beneath him now, and knew that one of them would have to die to ease that pain. Part of him wished he had looked away. That he hadn’t seen the light fade from those eyes and the magic from those hands. Part of him wished that his sentimentality had worked, and that he could bring the mage, wounded and broken as he was, to a new world to heal. With or without his brother. That he hadn’t driven his sword so easily through the heart beneath him and slipped in the blood as it turned the mud red. 

When it was over, he gathered the body close, refused to let the armies near. He held on to the long limbed corpse and carried it with him to where Syaoran had been left safe. 

“Fire, Syaoran. I need a fire.”

He knew how much the mage had been hated here. That they would parade his body to prove his death. That his head would rest on a spike or be sent back to the mad king. Kurogane wouldn’t let that happen. Refused the desecration of someone he had loved— at least in soul. The funeral pyre was one of many for that night, and Kurogane guarded it unil it was finished.

As they travelled, he had forgotten that this wasn’t his story. That he was here to help Syaoran and keep the boy safe as he hunted his answers and paid his price. His losses were not as world-ending as Syaoran’s could be. His choices, his losses, couldn’t end worlds or rearrange reality. His determination wasn’t to right the wrongs of a selfish choice, or undo the mistakes in a wish and save the souls of the innocents caught up in the mess. His story began and ended with Nihon and a pair of blue eyes. 

“Kurogane-san…” Syaoran sat next to him, knew that he was mourning what he could never have again. “He wasn’t Fai-san.”

“No. He wasn’t.” But he could have been. If they had time. If the kindness in that soul hadn’t been so thoroughly crushed as it was. If he hadn’t been so desperate. 

If the twin was the Mad King, Kurogane knew what would happen. If Yuui wasn’t there to offer some kind of solace, then Fai would tear the world down around him. One twin without the other was desperate and dangerous and lost when left unfocused. 

There were cystals left in the ashes. Pure blue— without the streaks of gold that the crystal he wore carried. He sent them to Clow for safe keeping. He trusted Sakura to find out why the magic wasn’t burning— wasn’t dissolving with the budy as it should have. 

And Mokona took them onwards. 

—

When they landed in the garden, he almost wondered if they had reached Nihon— his Nihon— again. If the blossoms, light and fragrant in the breeze, were the same as the ones in Tomoyo’s garden. When he got his bearings, he realized that the paths were wrong, the walls too low, that there was no torii gate at the far end by the entrance, that the breeze was wrong. It was certainly a shrine garden— there was an offering box near the entrance that he could see, and a spring with the dipper cup for purifications— but it wasn’t a shrine in his Nihon. 

Mokona loved it instantly. 

The branches above them rustled, and when they looked up, they were met with a pair of identical young faces peering down, haloed by golden hair, and watching them with wide blue eyes. 

Kurogane wondered which god he had managed to piss off this time. 

One of the twin spoke, both clearly clinging to the branch they were on. 

“Are you here to save us?”


	8. Chapter 8

Sakura— Tsubasa— didn’t see the spirits as often as everyone seemed to think. The palace and city were not teeming with unlived, unnoticed life. In her experience, the presence of life was far more vivid than the presence of the dead. 

But she saw Fai, sometimes. More often than others. More often than old kings and queens and priests and priestesses. She saw him watching Yukito work— knew that Yukito interacted with him, took his advice on potions and magic— teasing Touya, avoiding the king and queen in fits of shyness. It hurt her heart to see him. See Fai smile and wander and gently touch the little crystal that was strung around his urn. 

His smile was sad, his image faded often, and she knew that he was heartbroken. He lingered and wished, and she saw him in the temple ruins and at the sacred pool, and she knew he was praying for Kurogane’s peace. She knew that his magic was stretching out beyond Clow and beyond his lingering lifeforce. When he touched the little crystal, she felt the magic pulse and burn and beg to return to him, and she wondered if it was connected to the crystal Kurogane wore. 

She knew he was sad. That he missed his family, that the little boy who sometimes visited— lost in the halls— was his brother calling to him. That he was torn between following his brother and being the boy he never could be, and waiting for Kurogane to visit. To join him too. 

He still smiled brightly for her. 

When the two new crystals came from another world, she didn’t as questions. Yukito said that there was something happening, that it could be dangerous. That Fai’s unrest was calling to the doubles in other worlds that shared his magic. Making wishes. But Watanuki had just told her to keep them safe, keep them in a sacred space with no corruption. If anyone was going to mention wishes, it would have been him. 

She put the new crystals with the other in the crypt. 

“You look brighter today, Fai-san,” she said when she saw him investigating the additions. “Stronger.”

“Maybe I am, princess.” 

He still smiled so bright and clear. 

She worried over the power he could bring to wishes. Even when dead.


	9. Chapter 9

It was Syaoran who helped the boys down from the tree they had climbed, and who got their story from them. It was Syaoran who smiled as he plucked dried leaves from wild blond hair and checked over the little scratches and cuts climbing a tree and getting stuck left on small bodies. It was Syaoran who knelt down to their level with a kind look and promise that they were just travellers. Who showed them a beaming Mokona and explained that they travelled by her good magic. Who encouraged the twins to touch Mokona gently as she cooed and laughed and hopped between them, until they started a game of chase. 

But it was Kurogane who they were drawn to. Whose hand they took in tight little grips as they attempted to drag him towards the large home across the street from the shrine. It was Kurogane who— despite his grumbles and glares, and his attempts to pull away from the vice like grip of little hands— the twins clung to with giggles and smiles and eager explanations that the Lady Harumi and Lord Seikou would be happy to welcome them in for a few nights. It was Kurogane— who couldn’t even look at them— who they took to first. 

Until Mokona bounced ahead and drew the playful twins into distraction at the door to their home. 

Kurogane was used to hiding his thoughts beneath the high collar of his cloak, behind a scowl or a glare. But he couldn’t help his reaction inside the front door the twins had led him and Syaoran through. He couldn’t help the widening of his eyes or the way he tensed when a woman who wore his mother’s face scooped the twins into her arms with a smile as she fussed over their small scrapes and bruises. He couldn’t help his first instinct to turn around at her greeting and surprise and walk right back out. 

The twins, he could handle. His parents, he could not. 

——

It was a few hours before he returned to the little shrine, and its nearby house. A few hours to collect himself; to scout the lazy little town they had come to; to curse at the gods and fate and whatever else had cursed him. A few hours to realise that Syaoran would have explained who they were, why they were there, and hopefully decide that there was nothing for them in this world so they could be on their way. 

One of the twins was waiting for him on the front step, a plate next to him. 

Kurogane didn’t trust the boy. 

They boy smiled up at him. “You missed dinner.”

Kurogane wished he couldn’t tell the twins apart. But he knew that smile, and that edge of worry in those too young eyes. He knew that it was a young Yuui who had sat out and waited. 

“Where’s your brother?”

“He’s studying.”

Kurogane waited for more, closing the few long strides between them. They boy— the young Yuui— held up the plate in offering. He had eaten during his hours away, had found a small vendor that sold something he recognised and took some of the gold coins he had from the last world. All the same, he took the plate and sat next to the small boy. 

“Syaoran told us all about your adventures.”

There was something profane in the idea that the small boy was aware of his own death in other worlds. Something that tainted the innocent little creature Kurogane knew full well his own lover had never had the chance to be. “Did he? He shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“There are things you don’t need to know about.”

The boy smiled— it was still a familiar smile, one that suggested Kurogane was wasting his energy in worrying. Even if it was a paternal sort of worry.

“I already knew that I was dead.” It was so matter of fact that Kurogane had to pause— it was his Fai, his long dead lover, left in a world he might never return to, who would have said something so blase. All with the same small smile. Still the boy smiled up to him. “I dreamed it. I dreamed it a lot. Lady Harumi said it’s my soul, spread all over.”

“How old are you, Yuui?”

“Five.”

“You’re too young to be dreaming like that.”

“That’s what Lady Harumi said.” The boy smiled; “Syaoran said you’d leave tomorrow.”

Kurogane was relieved to hear it. He wanted to be away from the boy— away from the dead. He pretended not to notice the look of hurt that crossed the boy’s face when he nodded. Pretended not to see those eyes age in front of him, that the boyish smile dimmed just a little bit more. 

“Good.”

——

They left early, before dawn. He didn’t stay the night inside. Instead, Kurogane spent his evening in the shrine garden where they landed. He tossed some coins into the offering box, and spent the sleepless night under the tree where they had met the twins. When it was time to leave, it was Syaoran who spoke on their behalf, who thanked his hosts and made Kurogane’s excuses for him. It was Mokona who chased the twins around for farewell hugs, clearly happy to have found the twins in a world where they were loved and given a family. 

But it was Yuui who approached Kurogane before they left. He pulled a stone from his pocket with a smile and pressed it into Kurogane’s hand. 

He had Mokona send it to Sakura as soon as they had a moment of peace in the next world, before Syaoran could notice.


	10. Chapter 10

It was worlds before they met another Fai. Worlds of peaceful travel, of wars and battles. Of bringing Syaoran closer to his goals. There were worlds of great battles and petty tests of strength, where there were vast great civilisations which cut through harsh deserts and conquering wild. There were worlds where the creatures of Kurogane’s childhood were real, where he stood nose-to-nose with giant wolves and strange, goat-like creatures Syaoran told him were the same sort of unicorns of his homeworld. Worlds where Mokona danced with laughing girls in twirling, colourful dresses, and Syaoran collected his stories from village elders and great libraries. 

In one world, as he reached out to touch the nose of a friendly blue dragonling that had followed him since they arrived— had made him laugh at its antics and value its strength when they came across the few violent creatures of that world— he could only wonder if Fai would have enjoyed this world of myths. If Fai would have played with the dragonling, or the rabbit creature that had taken to Syaoran. If he would have laughed and sheltered from storms beneath the stretch of wings as Kurogane had. If he would have flowed with them in battle as Kurogane knew he would have— like cutting water through the bandits and creatures that attacked them on the road. If Fai would have been overjoyed by the many little surprises and quirks the dragonling revealed (the cheek pouches, the ice-like claws, the ever-changing eyes).

He wondered if the dragonling would have let Fai ride it, as it refused Kurogane. 

But with his hand outstretched to the dragon’s nose, he could only smile as they said their goodbyes. As Mokona sang with Syaoran’s companion one more time while the boy made his notes on the resurrection spells made from long-gone minerals and herbs. 

The stone the dragongling dropped from the soft pouch nestled behind sharp teeth caused the pendant still secured on red ribbon around Kurogane’s throat to hum and glow. 

——

There were worlds where Kurogane could indulge, where he could cut down those who wished his family harm with no remorse. Where he used the local swords because he didn’t want to taint Ginryuu with his bloodlust. Not with this kind of bloodlust; stemming from loss and anguish and pain that spanned across worlds and lifetimes and he was left wondering if his promise to Syaoran was worth it. 

Those worlds, where he was fresh from battles not his own, where the clothes were better left abandoned or burned before they left for another realm, Kurogane refused to touch his family. He didn’t want to leave traces of blood on Syaoran’s books, on Mokona’s white fur. Or on the small crystal that pulsed with life against his throat. 

——

There was a world— where light danced around them as they moved, where the locals taught them how to manipulate this light, where warriors tested their abilities with the living lights around them to distract and disarm— where he found Fai. Not his Fai, he knew, but close. Smiling, laughing, dancing, deadly, playing in the little lights that flocked to him like his magic. He was their guide in this world, and even Syaoran smiled for him. 

He told them that the lights were the living souls of the dead, drawn to the living. They fell like rain during wars, and appeared one-by-one like will o’ wisps in peaceful little villages. They created walls and barriers for their living descendants, and the world elders believed that the lights will one day call out for the living to join them. He told them of his family— all dead, and guided them to the ancient places where the legends said the lights were born. He said that the lights had no natural colour, but there was a little blue one that burned fiercely by his shoulder as they travelled. 

He danced with Mokona in the lights, and sat Syaoran down at the edge of sacred springs where princesses were said to be born. Where souls emerged like fireflies, and returned to like magic rains. 

It was under the lights that Kurogane kissed him. Where he pulled the not-so-strange man close and kissed him— wishing the familiar ache was relief at finding his lover again. 

When they left that world, Kurogane clutched his crystal close and regretted every night spent forgetting his grief.


	11. Chapter 11

Days went by without seeing Fai wandering the halls or waiting by the little collection of crystals. Days of quiet and normal life, and Sakura’s own unease. She wondered, on those long stretches of day, if Fai was finally at peace. If he had followed his brother, or found his own way to some kind of much deserved rest. Stretches of days when it was quiet and peaceful, and it really started to feel like Fai was truly gone. 

When the little crystals— all blue, all different sizes— lay dormant and cold. When she couldn’t feel his magic and knew that Yukito could sense the loss too. 

Days when she cried for her lost friend. 

Days when he reappeared with a smile and a story and she wished she could hug him close again. 

Days when she wished that Fai could be seen by Syaoran and Kurogane when they talked, because she could see the hurt and heartache as he watched her smile to their family, and his eyes never left Kurogane. It was after those talks that Fai usually disappeared for days, weeks, months (once). Where he wandered and left, and she wondered if he had finally moved on from her. If he had left without saying goodbye to her, just as he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Syaoran and Kurogane. 

And when he returned, he would tell her stories of great battles and strange creatures and all the things that the others would sometimes tell her too. He would tell her about hidden spaces in the ruins of the Clow Desert, and where the waters ran. He would tell her about the Dreamseers and worlds they had visited, and talk about creatures she had never seen. 

She wondered if he was learning how to follow Kurogane. 

——

When they came across a cold, desolate world, Kurogane drew his sword. He didn’t trust the cold anymore. Not since Fai was gone— since there was no one there to throw snowballs and point out tiny, cold-thriving flowers and mosses. He didn’t trust the quiet and the chill now that Fai wasn’t there to throw a warm coat over Syaoran and Mokona, and dive into the adventure of cold winds and snows headfirst— with all the familiarity of coming home. 

Kurogane didn’t belong in worlds where water couldn’t flow and great shadows moved under lakes frozen over. He didn’t have the delicate touch to handle the small flowers and mosses that could be plucked and ground to potions. He didn’t know how to twist the winds or bundle against the cold when the fires wouldn’t start. Suwa and Nihon had faced long, cold winters, but there were worlds where he only saw cold and bitterness and unfeeling ice. And he missed Fai’s warmth all the more. 

But in this world, as they trudged across a grey and green tundra to the city in the distance— as they crushed lichen and ice flowers beneath their indelicate steps (Fai would have danced between the flowers, scolded them for not looking first)— Kurogane wondered who they would meet now, and hoped the towers in the distance were closer than they looked. 

“The sun isn’t setting,” Syaoran said when they stopped for a fire and dinner. “It touches the horizon and comes back up.”

“At least that means fewer predators we won’t see coming.”

“I’ve seen it before. And Fai-san once said that summer in Ceres was like that— the snow was still there, but the sun wouldn’t set. They would have months of light sometimes.”

“Eat your dinner.”

——

There were people in the city. Blond and fair skinned, pale from months of darkness. Even more with dark hair and smiling, rounded features, darker tones and darker eyes. They were kind, and welcoming. Bought their treasures from the last world as oddities and wrapped them in warm furs. Told them to stay off the ice in the lakes and avoid the big white creatures that prowled the plains. There were demons in the ice. 

Their prince was a demon. Chained to his throne so his nature wouldn’t harm them. Kept in the light so his magic was weakened. They couldn’t keep the chains on him when it was dark. 

Their demon prince wandered the city when it was dark. Like a pale ghost searching for something. Stronger in the night when the colourful lights crossed the sky— the dead, they called the aurora, who played games with the stars and chased the sun away— and weaker in the sun when the dead were sleeping. 

The only one to stay with the prince, in darkness and light was his guard. Just one. Sworn to the prince to protect him; unlike the other guards who swore service to the city and the Council. 

The prince was a boy. A sad, blue-eyed boy. 

Meeting the demon prince and his fearless guard was the first time Kurogane had seen himself with a world’s Fai. His own double— a young man, stood by the throne where the prince sat wrapped in delicate chains that smelled of magic and fear— scowled and glared at any who approached his prince, but softened when the other boy spoke quiet words the visitors couldn’t hear. There was nothing in the chamber but the cold, lonely throne and the two children (they were hardly more than boys— Kurogane recognised his own awkward growth spurt). 

“I saw you,” the prince said as they came closer. His voice was soft, exhausted, like his eyes. “I tried to find the gift for you.”

“Gift?” It was Syaoran who asked, as Mokona hopped to the prince’s lap and tugged at the magic. 

“From the dead.” The prince rested a hand on Mokona’s head, patted her long ears, and smiled gently to her. It was Fai’s smile, when he was tired and broken and unable to help as much as he wanted. “They have a secret about souls being separated. Twins who should have been apart, but share a soul. They wouldn’t tell me what it was, though. I’m sorry.”

Syaoran nodded, and smiled all the same. “Thank you, though. You didn’t have to try.”

The lanky boy, the Kurogane of this world huffed— a covered laugh and a muttered; “I told you that, idiot.”

The prince blushed a bit at that. He was sad, and old, and clearly not used to the open affection Kurogane knew was part of his own nature. And he loved the world all the more for it For the single kindness he could keep close by his side.

Kurogane hated the world on the boy’s behalf. Hated the cold and the fear, and wondered if the boy ever had the chance to see the small flowers that grew in the bright sun outside of the walls. He had planned to send some of them to Sakura (to Fai’s ashes), keep them pressed between the heavy pages of one of Syaoran’s books until they could dry in the Clow desert air. Instead he knelt to the prince’s level and offered them— a little crushed, a little damaged, but still fragrant and new. 

He heard the metal of his double’s sword before he saw the gleam of metal. And he only glared until the boy put the weapon away. It was only a few small flowers to make the prince smile. He pressed one sprig of blossoms into the boy’s hands as Mokona jumped to his shoulder, and tucked the second he had gathered into the golden hair. This close, he muttered softly; “My own Yuui would have danced and played in the fields outside of the city with you.”

The boy smiled, bright and honest, and his own Kurogane looked surprised. 

“I know,” the prince said, pressing a delicate blue crystal into Kurogane’s hands; “My Fai would have been able to help you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Kurogane did not believe in ghosts. He did not think that the stories the Empress and Princess told each other on stormy nights stood the chance of being true; he didn’t believe that the loving or vengeful or indifferent dead could haunt the living; he didn’t believe that there was any specific sort of energy that lingered around like the old stories said. He didn’t believe that the soul of his dead lover was shared by the hundreds of others in different worlds who shared the same face and name. He didn’t believe that his Fai was out there. 

It took him a long time to reconcile that belief with the hope that every new Fai and Yuui they met along the way might smile at him with familiarity, or call him those stupid names no one seemed to know anymore. It took him a long time to understand that his Fai was not out there somewhere, not like the kid’s shared soul. 

He still took the little crystals that sometimes appeared in the hands of the strange blonds he met along the way— some pressed quietly into his hand with a sort of reverence and pain he never wanted to see again, and some given over with a smile and a kiss and a little tease over the shared nights. He still sent them along to Sakura, and wondered just how many there were. Despite the pain that seemed to come with each new piece and shard, Kurogane never thought to turn the gift away. Not when it felt like he was just as intent on collecting something lost as the kid was. 

The first time he turned away a crystal, he wondered if it would hurt whatever magic was being woven around him. 

The child— happy, playful, teasing— smiled brightly as he presented his most treasured possession and explained that it was a gift from his dead twin. He closed the little hand around it again, and told the boy to keep it, then. The second time was when a blond man— so familiar and so alien at once, with the same form but different scars— lay with him and held his own crystals up against the night sky and told him how magic was all made from stars and the cold of their light. Kurogane felt his pendant, warm and alive, at his throat, and kissed the man to shut him up. 

He wondered if he started turning away the gifts because of his guilt. 

It wasn’t his Fai he met on the journey. It wasn’t his Fai’s grin he kissed or body he teased every so often— only when he could stand the sight of the stranger, hear that voice, see a bit more of his Fai in those eyes and sense the calm and happiness brought about by some kind of freedom Kurogane never truly understood. But he still spent himself with them. 

There were ghost stories Tomoyo used to tell her sister about vengeful lovers haunting the living husbands and wives as they moved on. 

He preferred not to believe in ghosts. 

—

There weren’t many crystals, really. Sakura had counted them. She held up each one to the light to see if there were secrets in them. She let Yukito inspect them, cleanse them, set them away with the little urn Sakura visited though she really didn’t need to. They were all different— some rounded, some jagged, some looking like they were shattered from painted glass, others like little pure stones and starlight. By the time Kurogane stopped sending them, she had counted fifteen of them, and had them all pressed into a frame that could bind them together. She had a silver chain made to keep them together, and she set them all in such a way that they could easily be sent to a more permanent home. 

She never thought that she was doing more than looking after them for a bit. 

She saw Fai less and less. And wondered just what he was up to. 

There were days and weeks and months where she would have him by her side, talking her through new types of magic— his type of magic. And there were months where she only caught glimpses of him, not always as the adult she knew. 

Sakura did not believe in ghosts, She didn’t have to. She knew that spirits were everywhere, that they lingered and guided, and they were drawn to her and her brother. She knew that they were just as complicated after death as they were in life, and that the very essence of a person was what created them.

And she knew that Fai was clever and powerful, and missed Kurogane far more than he let on. 

—

“You broke your promise, you know.”

Kurogane didn’t dream of Fai. He hadn’t in a long, long time. That’s how he knew that the smiling, calm man sitting on the edge of his bed in the little inn was really there. There was no Fai or Yuui in this world that they had met yet, no way for a stranger to sneak into his rooms and start chatting, no way for him not to sense a living presence this close to all that he cared about. 

He didn’t believe in ghosts, or spirits, or all the other little ghouls and creatures children told each other about to keep their friends awake at night. He knew that those things could not rationally exist, or they would be wading through a sea of dead souls in every world they went to. 

But he did understand that magic existed. 

And Fai had been powerful. 

“Shouldn’t you be at peace?” It was easy to try to shoo the spectre away, to push the image away and get back to his life. He wanted to treat it as normal, rationalise it away— it was not Fai in front of him as he got ready for bed. It was not Fai who teased him with an appreciative look as he peeled away the ridiculous layers of this new world’s clothing. It was not Fai. Fai was gone. “Doing whatever it is that the dead do?”

“So mean, Kuro-tan! I just wanted to talk.”

At the nickname— the long remembered nickname that no one ever spoke now— Kurogane felt his heart stutter. “Fai…”

“I’m mad at you, you know, Kuro-sama. You broke your promise.”

“What promise?” The image of half a dozen others who shared the same shape passed through his mind, along with vaguely remembered promises that he would always love his Fai— that he would promise the rest of his days to the man whose soul sat on the edge of his bed. 

The man before him sulked and lay back on the bed— a far too real weight to a spirit. “Don’t look so frightened, Kuro-sama. I’m just here to talk. I’m not the vengeful lover type.”

“What promise, mage?”

“You promised to kill me. When I was ready to die, you said. You promised to kill me by your own hand.”

Kurogane joined the spirit on the bed— joined Fai— and sat as comfortably as he once did when the mage was in one of his moods. When he looked lost and alone and needed to be coaxed away from his memories and past. He always ran a hand through Fai’s hair on those days, waited for the little hum of appreciation and kiss away the familiar sadness that haunted Fai. 

Fai’s hair was as soft as always, and he remembered being fascinated by the colour of it. Ghosts were not meant to be physical things. He wanted to know how the mage was doing it, what price he had paid to come back. His heart ached when that soft little hum passed Fai’s lips. “Were you ready to die, then? When you did?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“Then you broke your promise too. You promised to live until I would kill you.”

“I’m sorry, Kuro-sama. I really am.”

“I love you.”

There was that smile— the familiar one. The smile that was so bright and sad and conflicted, all at the same time. That was his Fai’s smile. It was his Fai’s sadness being forced away by what few years of happiness and freedom he had gained. He felt the hand on his cheek and still wondered what price had been paid, what this form had cost his Fai. 

“You didn’t really mourn, did you?” Fai had reached up to him, still stretched out on the bed, smiling his sad, lovely smile. “Did you let yourself mourn, Kurogane?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Kuro-sama.” The smile was warmer, softer, and he felt Fai’s (too solid) hand moving over his skin (it was cold, not living) and pausing at the crystal on the red ribbon around his throat before moving to shoulders and arm. “Kuro-tan. Kuro-rin. Kuro-pup. Kuro-pu.”

He wanted to ask, even as he leaned down. He wanted to know the price, demand the answer before he let Fai go again. He wanted to demand Fai tell him what he was up to, how this was possible, how any of this happened at all. Instead, he kissed Fai to shut him up, and wished he could keep the man talking at the same time. He felt the little crystal at his throat burn against his skin, even as he moved so it hung between them on the bed. He wanted to ask the price for this night. Instead he kissed his lover like he never would again. 

—

Fai was real, and solid, and whole before him in the morning. But he could feel the quick burn of magic now that he thought to look for it. 

“Promise me something, Kuro-sama?”

“No.” He grinned at the wry look that got him. “If I promise you something, it means that you’re going to go away.”

“I’m going to anyway. My magic won’t last forever.” Fai smiled and stretched, and touched the crystal gently. It was getting cold. “Promise that you won’t follow me.”

“No.”

“Promise that you’ll wait. That you won’t follow me for another fifty years. That you’ll keep Syaoran safe and travel back to your country with Mokona, and marry some noble that will help you have that big family you secretly want.”

“No.”

“Kurogane.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“I almost missed how stubborn you were.”

“And I almost missed how much of an idiot you were.” Kurogane reached for the spirit, feeling the magic— the aura— weaken. “I won’t follow you. Not willingly. Not yet. But you had damn well better be there when I do.”

“And your homeland?”

“That’s for me to worry about. Not you. Not now.” He kissed away the look of hurt. “I won’t follow you. I’ll live well enough for both of us.”

“Promise me.”

“Fine, I promise.”

“Good.” The smile— that sad, warm smile— returned. “I have to go.”

“Where?”

“My brother’s been patient with me. He’s waited a very long time to hear about all the adventures I’ve had.”

Kurogane smiled, and kissed the man again, kissed Fai again, before giving him a gentle shove away. “Go, then. Tell your brother to look after you. Because I’m eventually going to meet him, and I’ll know if he’s let you run wild.”

“I’m the older one, you know.”

“No you’re not. I’ve met too many of you already— Fai is always the elder, Yuui is the younger, and you’re both a pain in my ass.”

Fai grinned, gave his Kurogane a quick peck and pushed himself away. “Your parents are lovely people, by the way. You’re just like your mother, she can always tell when I’m lying, too.”

Kurogane smiled as the image— the spectre, the ghost— left. As the magic around the room eased and faded and he felt the weight of all the worlds he had travelled to come back to him. He dressed and got ready for the next adventure, and tied the little pendant back tightly around his throat with it’s red ribbon. 

Fifty years, maybe. Depending on what sort of fights he could get into and what sort of trouble they stirred up as they searched out a way to ease Syaoran’s own guilt. Fifty years before he would kiss that damned smirk and teasing look off Fai’s face again. 

He could wait.


	13. Epilogue

He didn’t quite make it the full fifty years, but he did pretty well, all things told. 

Syaoran found the answer that he was looking for to give the other boy a life again, and the other Sakura her own life. It had been foolhardy and destructive, and they had nearly torn apart the universe looking for that answer to break the cycle they had been in. But they had solved the problem and all four children could exist at once, in their own states of being. 

Only not in the same world. Syaoran had managed to restore the others to life, but they were too similar— more than just twins. 

Kurogane took them in. 

He named them his heirs in Suwa when it was rebuilt and cleansed. He gave them a home and freedom, and the means to keep their own life with their own friends. He let them become his proper family, and challenged any simpering noble at Tomoyo’s court to say otherwise. Tomoyo was delighted with the whole situation. 

They named their first son “Yuui”. He had green eyes laughed at everything. There was no twin to break his heart. 

Kurogane almost made the full fifty years like he promised. 

But his Nihon was still a warring country, and still full of beasts and demons and petty warlords wanting to claim his homeland after he swore it to Tomoyo and his family. He taught Syaoran the art of ruling as his father did, but it was Sakura who faced down diplomatic challengers. It was Sakura who kept Suwa alive and it was Syaoran who protected the body. Kurogane tried not to think of his own parents when he saw they learning and working together. 

Mokona kept the lines between the worlds open for them. She danced between the children and rode on Kurogane’s shoulders. He suspected that she was immortal. 

After twenty years of peace in his homeland, he started to slow down. He was injured in a battle because he couldn’t move fast enough out of the way of a blade. His hair was no longer the dark black it used to be, and his eyes were no longer a blood red. Everything had dulled a little bit. 

So twenty years after he had started to settle down, he retired Ginryuu to the rebuilt shrine, and let Syaoran take his place among the young men. He still fought— nothing could keep him from that— but he trusted Syaoran to lead in his stead when it was necessary. And Ginryuu rested in the shrine with his parents’ memorials and an urn from Clow. 

Fourty years after he settled Suwa, and had finally stepped down from leading a city that he really had no idea what to do with. He had adopted two children he loved, had seen their own children start to grow, and he wondered if he should still face down demons and enemies in battle to just speed things along. 

It was the dead of winter of his sixty-fifth year that he found the twins. He knew them instantly, despite how long it had been since he saw those blue eyes (any blue eyes) and that sun-gold hair. They had found their way into the shrine for shelter, had been shooed away as beggars by the priests Kurogane promptly had removed from his family’s service. Kurogane knew them. And he pulled them into the manor house for a warm meal and fresh clothes. 

They were just children, younger than Sakura’s youngest. And they were alone in a strange world where they looked very, very different. 

Kurogane gave them a home. 

Five years later, Kurogane woke to see his Fai sitting on his bed with a smile. 

“It took you long enough, Kuro-sama!”

“You said fifty years, idiot.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually take all that time!” His Fai grinned and pulled him up from the bed. “You were always rushing and stomping about, I thought you’d lose patience in ten years.”

“Shut up,” Kurogane said, gruff and scolding, but raising a hand to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. “The children will be sad.”

Fai nodded, “Of course. But Sakura will explain it.”

“The twins—”

“Have a family and home and a whole city to love them now.”

“Syaoran—”

“Will keep the city strong, but not nearly as much as Sakura will. Suwa is in good hands.”

“I missed you.”

“Come see your mother. Your father refused to tell me any more stories until you were there to be embarrassed by them.” Fai grinned, squeezing Kurogane’s hand tightly. Taking both his hands to lead him away— two flesh hands he had almost forgotten of ever having. “Did you really keep climbing that big tree in the garden?”

“What the hell has he been telling you?”


End file.
